All These Times and All These Faces
by Keep calm. We have hulk
Summary: Universes were strange, he decided, staring up into the endless expanse of stars and possibilities that whirled above his head. Things happened differently in each and every one.' A series of AU's.
1. Chapter 1

**So… Yes. Hello.**

**I'm sure you're all rolling your eyes, and/or rather confused. **_**Doesn't Vamp already have a massive project that she should be working on?**_** Well, yes. I do. I really **_**should**_** be working on Life is Beautiful, but I can't seem to squeeze any ideas out onto paper as of late, so I've put it on hold. Not really a hiatus, but just paused for a bit while I gather my thoughts.**

**Plus, I am also currently working on another piece that's going to be even more massive, so my creative energy is mostly being expended on that right now.**

**Anyways, about this piece: I've had the idea in my head for a while, but I only got around to actually starting on it now, because I randomly had a brainwave and thought it would be a good place to start. This will be multi-chaptered, but will always be marked as complete, because each chapter is a one-shot and will have no connection to the ones afterwards or previous (aside from the characters included, anyways). I created this just to have something I can work on without stressing out, something I can write on and off and has no particular structure.**

**So, without further ado, here is the chapter!**

Think Of These Thoughts

She knew he loved her.

Anyone who didn't know him would have told her that she was crazy for thinking so, that someone like him could never love anyone, let alone someone (_some__thing_) like _her…_

But she knew better, you see.

She knew.

She saw it in the turn of his head, in the faintest trace of pink that flitted across his cheeks when she smiled a cheeky smile that was so faint nobody would have noticed it but him. She saw his lingering looks, the way his eyes caught hers and stuck there, especially when he thought she wasn't looking (_there was always something dark and dangerous in the most anguished way possible that stirred in his gaze when he did that, so she never said a word_). She felt the shivers that went down both their spines whenever he looked straight through her, and she almost felt sorry when he would wrap his arms around himself subconsciously, as if to protect himself from the power they both knew she had over him.

She almost felt sorry, but she didn't, not really (_not really, not anymore; she's spent enough of her life feeling sorry, she takes what's hers, now_).

She was in love with him too, after all.

She might have been ashamed if she still apologized like she used to, but now there was no one to apologize to but him, and he certainly didn't resent her for it. In fact, if anything, he clung to her even more, eyes breaking and shattering and _dying_ with stark, cold fear for no more than a split second whenever she swept off down the long, winding hallways, like he was afraid she was going to leave, or fade away, or maybe both. But she didn't, and there was such tragic, heartbreaking wonder, such terrible, painful surprise on his face every time she came back, as if he couldn't quite believe that she wasn't gone.

She never asked for forgiveness, never wasted her time feeling guilty; she knew she wasn't the (_only_) reason he was broken, so she merely held him as best she could when he was left alone too long, left alone to _think_, held him when he finally snapped, and he dissolved into tears and screams and constant, burning agony. She held him until he was quiet, then whispered to him, murmured into his ear until he stopped shaking, until he could force the façade of humor and wide, manic grins back into place, until he was strong enough to bear the entire universe on his shoulders again, if only for a little while. She wasn't sure if this made him love her more or hate himself with a fierce, fiery passion, but still, still she held onto him as if _he_ was _her_ lifeline, and not the other way around (_it's scathingly ironic, either way_), because if that was all she could do for him, she would (_and sometimes it's better, that she can only do these little things, that she can't properly do __anything__ for him aside from offer those comforting, aching silences_).

It was almost a shame, really, that their story was a constant slow dance of pain and loneliness, that they couldn't have met like normal people and fallen in love that way too (_but as he says, normal is just so, so boring_).

Almost.

But then, if it were _really_ a shame, they would say so much more about it. He was always so very, very vocal when he thought something was wrong (_but not when he was hurting_), and the fact that he never said anything at all about their twisted, awful-wonderful relationship must have said something about his character (_or about hers_). Besides, if he'd known her when she was… Well. If he had known her _back then_, things would have been so very, very different that she sometimes wept a bit just thinking about it.

Sometimes she didn't even know why (_but it was worse when she did_).

So… It wasn't a shame – not really, not to them – because they knew how they worked, they knew how they leaned on each other (_him more than her, if she's being honest, and he almost never is_), and they had learned to accept it, growing fond of their strange dynamic and of the person (_although neither of them were really people_) they shared it with. Maybe they weren't happy _all_ the time – Hell, maybe they weren't happy at all – but it was the closest thing either of them would ever get to serenity, so it wasn't really a shame at all.

Except it _was_.

If anyone on the outside ever looked in (_and they seldom did, there wasn't much to see, especially on her end_), they might just burst into tears from the sheer _tragedy_ that their tale expressed, the raw, unutterable _pain_ that roiled inside both of them just beneath the surface – him because he had lost everything and it was his fault, and her because she'd had everything and then lost it to someone else's cruelty in a flash of blood and metal. If someone saw how their lives worked, they might just go mad from the sight of such ugly, jagged edges, edges where everything stopped and nothing began.

But they didn't see it that way (_that's what they told each other, what they told themselves, but they could both see the bitterness, the horrible, world-shattering irony_). They saw two individuals who were stuck in a vicious cycle of pain and loss and agony, two individuals who somehow found comfort in one another despite both thinking themselves to be the very last being in the universe worthy of such trust. They were both in states of mutually assured destruction, and they were both too absorbed in the whirl of blinding lights and alien numerals that was constantly spiraling around them to reject self-destructing in something so close to ecstasy.

She loved him with every inch of her being (_or what was left of it, if anything_), and she loved him even more when he didn't stop her from thinking in such a poetic way. There was really nothing about their relationship that was poetic – plot-of-a-Shakespearean-play-esque or not – but he let her make believe that there was, let her promise things like forever without protesting her notion in the slightest, merely smiling and trying (_and failing_) to hug her tight.

But it was the smile that was always too tight, and she knew he didn't believe her for a second, that his fantasies didn't stretch that wide, and all he knew was unhappy endings.

She didn't blame him for that one, really.

No boy can love a ghost and expect it to end well, after all.

**So, yeah, this pretty much came out of nowhere. I just had the thought yesterday and decided to write it. I thought I did alright, what do you guys think?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everybody! So, I've been keeping track of all the threads of thought that have been running 'round in my head the past few days, and as it turns out, this piece is going to get a new chapter a lot sooner than I thought! This one came out of nowhere as well, but in a bit of a different way.**

**I wrote down a bunch of teaser/synopsis things in my Notes app, but pretty much none of them had anything going for them except to provide me with inspiration. Then this summary just sort of clicked with an idea I randomly had, and poof, you have another chapter. This one might be a little weird, though, so proceed with caution.**

**Oh, and because I forgot in the last chapter: NOTHING YOU RECOGNIZE BELONGS TO ME. I DO NOT OWN DOCTOR WHO. (Otherwise, why in the name of the universe would Rose have ever left?)**

**Allons-y!**

Every Face, Every Name

The walls had closed.

Maybe that shouldn't have shocked him, but it did, a little. He was a Timelord, after all, and had thus always thought of himself as possessing an excellent sense of timing; he was so sure he would be able to weave his way through the cracks after he was finished cleaning up the mess on that universe's Earth… But he'd been wrong. The walls had closed and now he was stuck.

He tried to mentally shrug it off, but his throat was tightening. _Oh well,_ he tried to tell himself, flipping switches on the console and preparing himself for a bumpy ride. _New universe, right? Maybe I'll have a chance to start over._

It wasn't until later that he realized exactly what kind of restart button had been pressed.

"You're insane!" she exclaimed. "Now way!"

Honestly, who _was_ this madman? Sure, he'd saved her life at least twice in the space of a few hours (a few extremely scary and just slightly mind-boggling hours), but he'd also blown up a bridge and inadvertently gotten her fired from her job. He was also an alien, apparently (she still had doubts – he just looked so _human_ – but he insisted that _her_ race was the one taking after _his_, and not the other way around); she couldn't see _that_ going over very well with her mother. And besides all of those completely reasonable and logic-based issues, she hardly even _knew_ the man. She'd met him… What, two hours ago now? That was hardly enough time to know him enough that she might consider traveling with him in that impossible blue box of his.

This wasn't Cinderella, after all. One night (or rather, a couple hours) didn't change someone's entire life. The world just didn't work that way.

_But maybe,_ she thought, in the deepest, most traitorous recesses of her mind, _it works that way with __him__. _He was offering her the universe, after all. There was no way – _no way_ – that he would offer such a thing if it hadn't been done before. Like kids reluctant to give up their toys, it either got easier every time or they never did it again, and the fact that he was offering – and the fact that he had offered so quickly, so _eagerly_ – clued her in to the fact that the case was more likely the former. And maybe they hadn't all accepted, but… But maybe she should. It was a strange thing to think, an odd possibility to even _consider_, but consider she did. Not so much because of the offer itself (which, admittedly, sounded like the most amazing and wonderful and utterly indescribable thing _ever_), but because of the _way_ he offered.

She noticed through their entire adventure that he acted a little strangely in regards to her. At first, he had seemed confused and shocked and utterly _baffled_ by her, which baffled her in return, as she had always considered herself rather simple. Then, as they worked their way towards stopping an invasion of tiny, scaly aliens he called 'Viruzions', he seemed to fluctuate between acting distant and being entirely too familiar with her. It was a cycle, so to speak; he acted distant, they did something incredible, he got excited and started talking like they'd known each other their entire lives, she got weirded out, and he went back to being distant. (It confused her as much as she had seemed to confuse him when he'd first caught sight of her.) But then, by the end of the whole exhilarating ordeal, when she had placed a little trust in him, he had turned to her with a Look in his eyes that she couldn't quite explain but definitely believed deserved a capital letter. She had seen such a swirled, scattered mix of emotions on his face that it was hard to decipher them, hard to distinguish one from another. And he had asked her – openly, familiarly, yet with such aching, painful uncertainty – if perhaps she'd like to accompany him on his travels, if she felt so inclined.

And she had said no.

The moment the words left her mouth, she saw something terrifying. She saw something she instinctively knew to be _wrong_, so wholly, terribly wrong that it pulled at every atom of her being, clawed at her conscience with deadly talons, begging, screaming, _crying_ for her to fix it. In that tiny, barely-there second after she had spoken, she saw his eyes – which had just moments before seemed young and bright and alive and so unreservedly, unbearably green – _break_ and shatter completely, saw panic and desperation and loneliness, all wrapped up in a vessel of stark, cold fear that suddenly made him look _old_, older than anything she had ever even dared not to imagine.

Then he smiled a smile that was noticeably tight, and that façade of his came back to hide him away from her dark eyes. "…Alright," he said, and somewhere beneath all the false cheer, she thought she heard his voice shake. He turned, stepping back to his bigger-on-the-inside ship, and she felt the distance between them like a deep, icy trench. "If you don't want to come, that's okay. I won't make you."

She nodded brusquely, averting her eyes and trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that squirmed in her chest. They both just stood there for a moment, then turned away in sync, both walking in opposite directions, going where they belonged. She heard the wheezing of the TARDIS engines as it faded from its spot behind her, and she stubbornly refused to turn around, swallowing back the emotion now inexplicably rising in her throat and plowing forward, away from this place that was making her dizzy with something she couldn't place. She soldiered on, forcing herself forward, trying to make sure she didn't stumble despite the way her vision was blurry and her eyes curiously damp.

Her steps faltered, however, when that wonderful wheezing noise filled her ears again, and to her great shame (she wasn't ashamed at all, actually) she whipped her head around sharply, unreasonable, incomprehensible _hope_ stirring in her chest.

And there she was, that gorgeous blue box, and he came out, looking at her with an intensity she didn't quite comprehend.

"Sorry," he tried to pass it off as lighthearted, but he must have missed a spot, because she easily read into that single word and knew there must be more meaning behind it than he was letting on. "I know I said I'd respect your wishes, but…" He blinked once, twice, and she thought she saw his eyes glistening brightly for half a second. She waited for him to saw something, but he just cleared his throat, and cleared it again, shifting his eyes around and trying to look like he didn't know what to say.

He did. She knew that he did. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she knew.

But he was afraid.

She decided she'd be brave for him. "But what, Doctor?" she prompted, and she was sure this time that she saw him shiver at the sound of her voice.

And he sucked in a breath and replied, "I don't just let anyone travel with me," although it wasn't really a reply. He looked her in the eyes, hers dark under darker brows and his all warm and cold and emerald in one, and she felt like maybe she should have understood what that meant. "Just… Please." Something in his voice cracked, cutting a thousand cuts into oh-so-breakable glass, and she'd already made up her mind. "Please…"

She smiled and ran to him, ran into the waiting warmth of the universe and the winding, empty hallways of his eyes.

"What's your name?" he asked, for he must have forgotten to when they were busy saving the world.

"Rose," she responded, but she got the feeling he already knew.

_She_ was here.

How could she be here?

He'd left her in a universe with her father and a copy of himself, tried to give her the happy ending she so desperately deserved. He'd felt terrible to swan off and leave her just like that (especially since he'd never actually _told_ her), but he'd resigned himself to never seeing her again… And now she was just – just – just _here_? He didn't understand.

But then, maybe he did. It seemed as though the universe – _his_ universe, the one that _she_ was no longer a part of – seemed only to allow him to be with her in other universes, alternative ones, ones that were not his own. It made a strange kind of sense that he would find her here.

She didn't know him, though. Part of him was bothered by the fact, and another part was relieved. It would be easier to start over this way, easier for her to get to know him all over again and forget everything they both went through without each other (or rather, _she_ would forget… he was still very much the same man, and that meant that he wouldn't ever, ever forget). It would be strange for both of them – her because she must realize that he already knew her, and him because he already knew her and she didn't know anything about him – but he had his hearts set on working through it.

It didn't occur to him until much, much later that just because she was Rose and he was the Doctor that maybe they wouldn't even fall in love in this universe at all.

The days (weeks? months? years? she wasn't even sure) blurred by in whirling patterns that were not patterns, spun from starlight and wonder and unspoken words. Traveling with him was _amazing_. She had never felt so accomplished or so free in her entire life. It was pure, untainted, unutterably beautiful, she swore that she thanked him for it at least thrice a day. Not out loud, of course, not all the time. Usually they were too busy running for their lives to stop and talk.

And that was another thing. He hadn't really said anything about danger, but somehow she'd expected it when their first trip – a big glass and metal planet called Salixa 4 – turned into the trip that made them heroes for saving several hundred lives and reunifying two warring parties. He'd made to explain, but she'd simply waved him off, replying that she knew what she was getting into when she agreed to go with him, even though she really hadn't, and she was slightly freaked out as to how she somehow knew anyways. The whole experience was terrifying, but just so, so exciting that she couldn't bring herself to regret it for a second. (And he was so heartbreakingly surprised at her laughter, at her genuine compassion and kindness and desire to stay, that she felt like somebody must have broken his heart a long time ago, and he hadn't finished picking up the pieces yet… And perhaps he never would.)

And afterwards, after everything had been said, done, and blown up, he held her hand in his in a way that felt so frighteningly _right_ that she almost jerked away (but she didn't, because his electrifying green eyes were churning with something deep and passionate, something so achingly familiar that there was no possible way she could ever remember). "You are _brilliant_," he rasped, looking so earnest and sincere that she had to believe it was true. Then he smiled a blinding smile that was pure and honest and just a little bit sad, a smile that kept away the darkness for just a little while longer. "Mark my words, Rose Tyler; you're going to change the world, someday."

And she smiled at him in return, jutting out one him and resting a hand on it, retorting playfully, sassily: "We reformed an entire _culture_. Haven't I _already_ changed the world?"

His smile seemed off, after that, but he nodded and answered back in kind, lively and teasing and full of good cheer, hiding behind a futile front that she somehow knew was crumbling. She was almost tempted to ask what was wrong, but she didn't think it would be appropriate. They hardly knew each other, after all (didn't they, though?), and as brash and brazen as she was, she was not going to upset someone who held the stars in his palm, someone who somehow meant so much to her in so little time. She let it slide just this once (again, really), pretended she hadn't seen behind his walls for a tiny fraction of a second, hadn't seen the way she was haunting him in a way that didn't make sense. (But then, maybe it made more sense than she'd like to admit.)

She got the feeling the _someday_ he spoke of was really _yesterday_. And that was truly terrifying. (But maybe it was a little wonderful, too.)

She remembered.

She remembered, but she didn't remember.

Was this a double negative, or just confusing? He wasn't sure. If not for his superior Timelord senses and his acute awareness of everything that was Rose, he probably wouldn't have noticed. If she was anyone else – Rassilon, if _he_ was anyone else – he wouldn't have noticed a thing. But she was Rose and he was the Doctor, and somehow, in the tiny, insignificant moments that he wanted so very, very badly to act the way they used to around each other, he would see the shadows flicker across her face, see understanding flash through her eyes, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

But then her face would reset, and just like that it would be like nothing had happened. It would be like she was the Rose who had looked into the heart of the TARDIS because all she wanted was to save him. She still told him off when he did something wrong, still teased him, still ran with her hand in his, still completely undermined his authority, and, as they grew closer (again), he found she still forgave him for his sins and guided him out of the dark. But she was different. She was so very, very close, to his first Rose (and he would have never, ever guessed that he would ever said that about anyone; it was usually his companions who saw more than one of him, not the other way around) that her differences seemed to stand out all the more sharply. He couldn't even put a finger on what was so different – all he knew was that something was.

And he hated comparing the two. It just didn't seem right. It wasn't fair to either of them, and he wanted so, so badly to start again… He'd be damned before he threw an opportunity like this away (even though he knew it wouldn't matter, in the end).

She matched his glare, just _waiting_ for him to make another stupid comment. Why was he so angry? She'd just saved his life! (Almost at the cost of her own, but it was a price she would have been willing to pay, a price she always _would_ be willing to pay.) And now he stood there, all but _glowering_, like she had done something _wrong_. As if _she_ was the one being completely and utterly ridiculous.

"That was dangerous, Rose," he snapped at her, crossing his arms over his chest. She recognized the stance immediately, and wondered dimly why he was suddenly on the defensive, why he was suddenly trying to shield himself from everything that hurt (she wanted to say, _what's hurting you Doctor? What can I do, what can I say, what would you ask of me to make it better, because I would do anything in the world if you asked it of me_, but she didn't).

She answered with a snort. "I _know_." Her voice lashed out like a whip. "I am aware, Doctor, that things with you are dangerous, and I swear I've told you a thousand times that I have no intention of leaving." She saw his eyes flash as he opened his mouth, but she cut him off, "I am not a _child_, either, so I don't need you _coddling_ me. I can take care of myself!"

He shut down.

She felt immediately guilty, seeing him deflate like that, seeing the fight leave him in a silent flood, but she kept her scrunched, angry face, if only to keep her pride. He turned away, and her face grew tight as she tried to keep herself together at the look on his face; that dark, anguished expression of his caused her physical pain, but she couldn't waver, she couldn't look away.

"Right," he mumbled, fiddling with something on the console, not meeting her increasingly desperate eyes. "Of course, I… I should have guessed. You can make you own decisions."

She didn't really know what he meant by that (which was a first, since she usually knew what he meant, even when she probably shouldn't have), but she forced herself to nod sharply, huff a little bit and retreat a couple steps to lean against one of the railings. She watched as he moved around the console, trying to distance himself from her without seeming like he was doing it, trying to hide away his emotions like she knew he did. Eventually, after a few hesitant stolen glances, he shifted to the pretense of fixing something under the console, and the white-hot guilt surged through her all over again. She must have said something very, very wrong.

But for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what had upset him. Sure, the prospect of losing a companion must have scared him, but he could always just find another, right? She – she… There was just no way in the universe that she could possibly be _that_ important. So what, she'd done something dangerous? He'd done things far more dangerous than she had ever done in her life (_plural?_) and done them many more times than she would ever be able to in the mortal time she was given to live, and he was far more important than she would ever be. It made her ache just thinking about it (_I mean, they may as well have put up a neon sign with 'OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE' written in capital letters,_ she thought sadly, angrily, selfishly). It had taken another Timelord – or part Timelord, or _whatever_ River Song was – to fix his broken heart (though he always refused to say why his heart was broken in the first place, and she knew it wasn't about Gallifrey, at least not completely); how could she ever be enough? _Why_ would she ever be enough? He was so fantastically out of her league it was laughable, and quite frankly, she was just a little too in love with him to ever think of forgetting him.

So why had he reacted so strongly? What about her absorbing the Time Vortex and saving his life had caused him such distress?

He was scared of keeping her close, she realized as she watched him move about beneath the TARDIS's control panel. But he was even more afraid of losing her. Why, she didn't know, but if she knew anything about him (and she did; not just because they were so much more than best friends now, but because there was a shadow in her head that made her wonder), he wouldn't ever say.

Which meant it was _her_ responsibility.

_Damnit_.

"Doctor?" she dared to call out, and suppressed the shiver that went down her back when he popped his head out from the tangle of wires and machinery he was engulfed in, his floppy hair springing about his face and his green eyes sparkling with an intensity she had only ever seen in his eyes. "I'm sorry," she knew she didn't have to explain, but this had nothing to do with _necessity_. "You're right, it was a stupid and impulsive thing for me to do, but I just…" She swallowed back the inexplicable fear that rose in her throat. "I just couldn't stand to lose you. I don't think I ever possibly could." She met his eyes with an open honesty that she sincerely hoped he appreciated; she hoped he understood. "And the universe needs you a lot more than it needs me. It wasn't even a choice."

He turned sharply, and she almost felt like she had absorbed the entirety of space and time all over again, because she felt like she was burning alive. He wrenched himself out of the wiring, standing slowly and never breaking eye contact. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something she would regret, bit to deal with the Weight that was abruptly crashing down on her shoulders. Her bones felt like they were melting, her blood turned to molten metal and her heart to fragile, breakable glass under his powerful gaze. It was too much, but she couldn't do anything but revel and bleed under that ancient stare.

She didn't get it.

It seemed that no matter what universe you found her in, Rose Tyler didn't value herself nearly as much as she should.

She was worth so much more than he could explain. She was everything he had ever dared to dream of, everything he never knew he wanted – never knew he _needed_ – until she turned up like a light flickering on in the dark, guiding him towards the end of the tunnel. She had fixed him when he was broken, loved him and forgiven him when he had shattered himself entirely, when he felt he was the last person in the universe worthy of such redemption. She had done so much for him before, and she did so much for him now… How could she still not know?

But then he remembered.

Of course. She didn't know how utterly brilliant she was; she had no idea that she'd saved him too many times to count, that this latest stunt of hers was déjà vu to him; she'd done this before, and he'd just been so very terrified that maybe he _wouldn't_ be able to save her this time that he forgot that she was Rose Tyler, the Bad Wolf, the Shiver to his Shake, the most amazing hero he – and the universe – had ever known, and she created herself. She was perfectly capable of anything at all, and he had somehow forgotten. And she didn't even know. He hadn't even told her.

So he did.

She stared at him, after he'd finished speaking. His look was one of expectancy, like he was waiting for her to react, but she wasn't really sure she wanted to. He'd met her before? She didn't understand. Why had he invited another of her along, after he'd lost the first? Wouldn't that just cause him more pain?

She asked him, and he frowned at her, shaking his head. "Humans," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Bloody oblivious. To _everything_."

She might have taken that as an insult, if he wasn't looking at her with a soft, open tenderness that she had never been subject to before. He got that way when he talked about the Ponds, and how he had been wiped from existence by cracks in time, and the wedding he must have already missed. He talked a little like that when he spoke of the mysterious River Song, the anomaly he never got to figure out. She must have been special, Rose had mused, if she was able to know the Doctor like she so obviously did. Those brewing emotions on his face were so potent, they may as well have been one of those acrid fumes they had avoided on Basylene 6.

He drew close to her, closer than he had ever dared before, made to move even closer, move until they were touching, but he withdrew, looked away for half a second, then looked back at her with a pain in his eyes. "You're more than you could ever know. I couldn't ever stay away, if I had the option." He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling lightly, nervously, meaning behind the soft, simple sound that was almost too much for either of them to bear. "It hurts, sometimes, to be around you, of course it does, but the good outweighs the bad. It always does, with you. Even though I know what will happen in the end, and even though that doesn't make it any less sad, this thing that I do – all that running away – it's not about thinking about the past, or about the future. It's about living in the moment and pretending we have forever."

And then, right then and there, she had to say it. Even though it was terrifying, and she knew his response (if he gave one at all) would make or break her, either shatter her world into a million tiny pieces or complete it in a way that no one could ever possibly describe.

"I love you."

And the look in his eyes might have broken her if she was just about anyone else.

It was tragic. It was so beautifully, bitterly tragic that he was certain he was going to die and regenerate right then and there. Time could erase every face, every name in history and recreate itself; the entire universe could fall apart and put itself back together again, but there would never _not_ be the Doctor and Rose Tyler.

It was simply tragic.

Of all the things she could have been shocked by, out of every little thing that leaked from her old life into her new one, the one that actually managed to surprise her was the fact the he loved her too.

**And that's all, folks!**

**Told you it was a little weird. But anyways, I guess I can't complain. I mean, new chapter, right? Let me know what you thought of this one!**

**R&R**

**- Vamp.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, dearest readers! Once again, I'm updating this because inspiration seems to come easy when I'm working on something I don't feel like I have to work on. I have various other projects that I'm working on (Life is Beautiful being the **_**least**_** of my problems), but I decided I wanted to do this because I've been feeling depressed (or something like it, I've never been depressed before, so maybe I'm just a little down) lately, and I wanted to cheer myself up, and possibly also give myself a break from the world.**

**This chapter is much more lighthearted than the previous two, and is likely to be shorter (or at least shorter than the last chapter, the monster it was). I think you all deserve a break from angst. The next chapter on my list of chapters-to-write promised a whole lot of angst, and since I'm currently in public, I'd rather not cry my eyes out while writing it. For all of you who like my angstier chapters, don't worry; I'll post another tear-jerking chapter eventually.**

**For now, enjoy this piece!**

**P.S. I had page breakers in the last chapter, but Fanfiction doesn't seem to process them. If anyone knows how to make page breakers in Microsoft Word that will show up on Fanfiction, please let me know.**

Color In a Pencil Sketch World

Amber leaves stirred in the breeze, leaving tree branches to shudder and shake, and the delicate, chlorophyll-filled membranes fluttering to the ground. Children shrieked and hollered, laughing as they chased each other around the trunks of the few trees that were planted in the strips of dirt the city had carved into the pavement. Lights were on inside houses down every street, people staying up to talk and eat, and prepare for the upcoming holiday. People streamed in and out of the whitewashed grocery store down the street, entering with bulging wallets and exiting again with bulging shopping bags. Parents pursued their children across streets and parking lots shouting stern, angry, and worried demands after them to stop that and come back here and don't you dare take another step. Despite the hustle and bustle, nobody missed how pretty and sunny the day was, the sky just beginning to show signs of evening light on the horizon. It was a beautiful day.

Or it would have been, if Rose Tyler weren't stuck in detention.

Honestly, she didn't know what she'd done to deserve detention on a _weekend_. Sure, it was only Sunday (she'd always found Sundays to be rather dull), but it was still the weekend, and she really should have been out with her friends somewhere or visiting the comic book store to get the newest issue of Batman, instead of being cooped up here. What was the point? To make her regret what she'd done? To attempt to put a stop to her bad behavior? She snorted at the very idea of both. She wasn't about to regret it in a million years, and it was a one-time thing anyways. It was stupid to lock her up in some stuffy room with a bunch of other troublemakers she didn't even know for an hour as a punishment. (_She didn't even think she deserved punishment, the bastard had it coming._)

She heaved a sigh and turned to sweep her eyes sullenly over her current company. The teacher overseeing detention that day sat behind a desk at the head of the class, glasses perched pompously high on his thick, broad nose, and his meaty hands wrapped around either side of some book. A pair of troublesome looking boys was sitting near the front of the class, heads bent over papers, and wide, rebellious grins on their faces. Behind them sat a dark-haired boy with a checkered cap, a chessboard and a large stack of what appeared to be algebra papers in front of him, and an arrogant, snarky grin on his face as he tapped his pencil against his chin. To the right was a tall, pretty girl with her long hair confidently dyed varying shades of purple and styled messily, long bangs hanging over one side of her long, angular face. There was some other mischief-maker who was supposed to be there, she remembered, but they must have ditched, because there was no sign of them here. But just as she was turning to look out the window again, another person who she must have missed caught her eye.

At the back of the classroom, another boy sat at his desk. She thought that he must have been a senior, for he looked older than the other students in her year, and there was no way someone that tall could ever _not_ be a senior. His hair was probably the most outrageous thing she'd ever seen, all messy and disorganized and gravity-defying. There were glasses perched on his nose, but not at all pompously, like they were on the teacher, no, his glasses were tilted at a crazy angle, almost falling off his face and landing on whatever he had in his hands. It must have been a project of some sort, because his fingers were working at a thousand miles a second, and his eyes were focused on the small object resting in his palms that she couldn't quite see. He was rather odd, she decided. He just had that sort of presence. (_And if she could tell what kind of presence he had from this far away, he must have _some_ presence._) She pondered idly who exactly he was.

She got her answer later. At the end of the hour, as she checked her phone and, after discovering her mother was having Howard over and she should probably not be within a block of the flat, was trying to figure out what she was going to do with her night, she found that she and him were the last to leave. Just as she was going to dismiss this fact like so many other things she dismissed, she noticed there was something in his eyes. There was something writhing and just barely terrified hidden beneath the surface, and his slow, jerky movements only added to the idea that had somehow become unshakeable in her mind that maybe he didn't want to go home. Maybe he was _afraid_ to go home.

Absently, she wondered why.

Her curiosity very nearly got the best of her, but no matter how curious she was about him, she was still a Tyler woman, and if they were known for anything, Tyler women were known for being stubborn as Hell. She didn't want to seem creepy, and she most certainly didn't want him to know just how intrigued she was (after all, it happened before, and look how _that_ turned out). So, instead of satisfying her curiosity, she finished gathering her things, stood, and swept out of the room, never once looking back at him. She nearly shivered half way to the door because a prickle started at the base of her neck that made her think maybe his eyes were on her, but she dismissed the thought, and still didn't look back. She left the school building, never once hearing his footfalls behind her, never once hearing anything to indicate he even existed. She decided it wouldn't have surprised her if she was going mad, and he was merely a figment of her imagination, but it surprised her to realize she didn't want him to be. She wanted him to be _real_.

But she didn't let herself dwell on that, and she hurried her steps, as though escaping the school building meant she could somehow escape her thoughts.

When she eventually burst out of the heavy steel and glass doors of the school, she momentarily closed her eyes to the sensation of crisp, chilly air washing over her. She blinked swiftly, catching herself before she tripped on the first stair and fell on her face, picking up her pace again as she bounded down the steps. Her bag swung wildly at her side, and the leaves rustled in the trees. Despite her unsettled thoughts and emotions, she couldn't hold back the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. The autumn air felt fresh and clean against her skin, and the air was alive with the hum of voices and the muted scent of candy; she loved all the sensory simulative elements that came with the approaching holiday, although it still didn't compare to Christmas, in her opinion. Her hurried steps slowed once she was outside, leaving her gait somewhere between a stroll and a saunter. She wore a soft smile as her eyes hungrily took in her surroundings, her erratic pulse calming, and her chaotic thoughts put to rest.

For about three blocks, she felt that everything was fine…

And then _they_ showed up.

A mob of _his_ goons was suddenly there waiting for her when she stepped around the corner. She didn't recognize them at first (she hardly glanced their way, actually), but then they started moving towards her, and _then_ she started noticing. She turned to make a break for it, but found her was suddenly blocked by several big, stocky boys with scowls and grins on their meaty faces. She whipped her head back and forth, back and forth, wide eyes skipping from one unsympathetic, unforgiving face to the next. She backed away as they advanced, silent. Her heart all but stopped when she brushed against the wall behind her, knowing she was thoroughly trapped, knowing none of the boys before her gave a damn about her, knowing they wouldn't hesitate to carry out whatever punishment _he_ had deemed her worthy of.

Just as she was despairingly resigning herself to whatever fate may come, she felt a warm hand in hers and turned to see an even warmer face grinning at her with such temerity that she really just couldn't disagree when he said, "Run."

When they finally stopped, breathless and grinning, he introduced himself as John Smith. She scrunched up her nose, telling him that, for someone so dashing (he grinned and pointed out her unintentional pun, which made her roll her eyes and swat his shoulder), he had an entirely too generic name. He had pretended to be offended, but she just ended up laughing at him. He didn't ask her what the whole thing was about, which she was grateful for, and he didn't run from her, didn't look at her as though she had done something wrong, as so many others had before. She thanked him graciously and profusely (though really, he didn't need his ego to get any bigger, she thought), introducing herself as Rose, Rose Tyler, the girl who he'd had detention with, no, not the pink-haired one, and no, not the girl who 'was saved by the most handsome man in the universe from a mob of mindless buffoons', and really, _he_ was the buffoon for getting involved in the first place, although she was once again very grateful. They shared another laugh, and she decided that she liked this man, but she should really get going, before it got too dark and she was _really_ at risk. But just as she was about to say that it was nice to meet him and goodbye, she saw that shadow in his eyes again for a fraction of a second, and suddenly she just couldn't.

Instead, she jutted out one hip and rested a hand on it, flashing him a grin of tongue and teeth and candy pink lips. "Well, while you're being gallant, you may as well buy me some ice cream, right?" she teased, and although he scowled and complained, he did as she suggested (double scoop strawberry and vanilla, in a waffle cone).

He – being the incessant chatterbox she was quickly finding him to be – started talking, mentioning things like kings and countries and fantastical, faraway places, and she leaned forward, eyes sparkling and a giddy, enchanted smile tugging at her lips as he wove magic with his words. She listened intently, eating her ice cream slower and slower as he spoke, her mind shifting its full focus to every syllable that came out of his mouth. She had been right, she reflected, when she made that deduction about his (extremely massive) presence. She was glad that all the things that had occurred that day had, in the end; if everything hadn't gone so rotten in the beginning, she figured things wouldn't have turned out so wonderfully right by the end.

Her ice cream melted, but she didn't mind.

When the stars whirled by and the dark of the sky wore thin in the burgeoning light, the pair quieted, and looked at each other with soft, quiet smiles. They stood up, murmuring farewells, and although they said nothing else, they both knew there was a promise there, a deal that wouldn't ever be broken, so long as they both needed each other.

She didn't see him again until the following Sunday, when she once again picked him out among the usual crowd of hooligans and delinquents that crowded the classrooms hosting detention. His features were sunken, his eyes dark and unreadable as he stared down at his hands, which were tangled together in a knot before his project of the day (she saw metal scraps and lots of little circuit boards and wires, but she couldn't figure out what it was any better than she could when she couldn't even see what he was doing). He did not resemble the mad, glowing man she had met the previous week at all, and yet, in some strange, unidentifiable way, he did.

A cold little shiver went down her back when he looked up to see her standing there looking at him in between all the desks and the clutter, and she was suddenly struck by the fact that she really didn't know him at all. He'd saved her from a mob of goons and bought her some ice cream, told her stories (which were brilliant and amazing and she would sacrifice her grades and maybe even her career if he just kept telling them, because they were _life_, they were _freedom_, they were the whole vast, impossible _universe_), and that was about it. She didn't know anything about him except his name (and even that seemed a little sketchy, if you asked her).

But then, just as suddenly and with as much (if not more) clarity, she decided it didn't really matter.

She put on her best smile and advanced towards him, dark gaze never straying from his face. He blinked for a moment, something slithering at the edge of his eyes for the barest trace of a second, something that looked an awful lot like surprise. She couldn't comprehend why he was surprised, why his eyes (which were dark and storming and spider webbing with cracks) betrayed shock at her approach, as if he couldn't believe she was keeping that unspoken promise they both pretended they had almost forgotten about, but really hadn't left their minds. But she didn't have the time to ruminate on her thoughts, because she was suddenly stopping in front of the desk he was seated at, her smile still firmly in place as she pulled up a chair and sat down before him.

"Hello," she greeted, and his face lit up in a smile that was happier than she expected it to be. He grinned back at her, his entire face transforming in one simple action, and he suddenly looked a lot more like the man she'd met the week before (but his eyes were still troubled, and his features still sunken, and she knew something was wrong, but she also knew she would overstep a lot of boundaries she hadn't realized were there until just then if she asked).

He returned her greeting, his eyes sparkling as she went on to ask what on Earth he was doing to the poor circuit boards on the desk. He immediately launched into an enthusiastic explanation that went almost entirely over her head, leaving her frowning thoughtfully with her eyebrows drawn together to such an extent that he paused and asked what was wrong. (She almost laughed, because if there was something wrong with someone in this situation, it wouldn't be her.) She told him she wasn't so good with science, and although he faked offense and corrected her – _"Engineering, Miss Tyler, honestly!"_ – she knew he understood that what she really meant was that she wasn't as good a student as she may or may not have seemed.

He didn't pry, which she was grateful for, and he didn't act any differently towards her after the revelation, which surprised _her_ a little bit. Normally, when people noticed or were informed of her less than exemplary grades, they acted condescending, or stopped talking to her altogether. He did neither. If anything, he talked even more, continuing his lecture about his little project, making sure to stop and try to explain things in simpler terms for her (without being condescending, somehow), though he usually only succeeded in confusing her further or drawing himself off topic. She found she didn't mind nearly as much as she probably would have, if it was anyone else. The way he spoke – with such confidence and cleverness and radiance – was spellbinding, and she found herself hooked before she was even aware of her addiction.

All too soon, their hour in detention was over, and they were left packing their things, casting each other glances and smiles through the relative silence. They left the school building together, talking and laughing as though they had known each other for years, rather than for a handful of hours scattered at opposite ends of a week. _It's strange,_ she reflected, smiling as she rolled her eyes at one of his aren't-I-so-clever jokes, _How I can feel to attached to someone I hardly know._

If she was a more sentimental, superstitious individual, she would have figured it meant something, but she wasn't, and she didn't.

Days passed, then weeks, and, before she knew it, months; the time flew by when you knew people like John Smith.

At first, they only met in Sunday detention, smiling at each other in the hallways if they happened to spot each other through the throng of other students, but then, just as she was gradually beginning to panic as her detentions (all from one incident that was completely justified, if you asked her) dwindled, he bumped into her in the hall and sent her books tumbling out of her hands and onto the floor, and he helped her pick them up, and somehow they ended up meeting in that same place again and again until it wasn't even strange. They started meeting in the hallways and walking each other to class, started leaving school together and going to get ice cream in the park before heading to their respective homes, started to pick each other out in the crowded auditorium and find a tiny table to sit at together because there really weren't many people who would sit with the both of them.

Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, something that had at first seemed small (well, it was never small in any way, shape or form, but she digressed) evolved into something larger than either of them, but maybe as big as both of them. Their smiles grew wider, brighter, and their eyes didn't even show a fraction of what each of them felt every time they saw the other, their hearts smoldering and burning in a way that was beautiful yet simple. People tended to keep their distance when the two were together, though whether it was because they could sense the force that surrounded them or because the duo was just plain strange, she didn't know (and she didn't care, really; somehow she cared less and less what people thought of her).

They learned each other over time, too. Oddly enough, he was the first to spill (she was little awed and a little honored by that; he always seemed so secretive, like he couldn't bear to let anyone see behind his walls), telling her that he had no family to speak of, and he was taken care of by a woman named Sarah Jane. It hadn't taken long for her to (belatedly) explain to him the situation she was in with the small gang that had almost attacked her the first time they'd met, telling him of Jimmy Stones and their messy, violent breakup, which ultimately resulted in his stupid goons being out to get her. His face had darkened as she went on, and eventually he interrupted her by wrapping his hand around hers and knotting their fingers together, meeting her eyes intensely when she glanced up form her lap. "I won't let them hurt you," he'd said. "Not ever." And she believed him.

Before she even knew it, they were best friends.

That wasn't to say they didn't have their little squabbles. Sometimes he got moody, sometimes she got temperamental, and sometimes outside factors or just life in general got between them (and of course there was that incident with that French transfer student who'd come to their school for a few weeks, Reinette, but they didn't talk about that anymore, even if it wasn't quite so far in the past as they pretended), and one of them snapped for a little while. One of them would be angry, and maybe the other would get angry too, or they would shut down, or pull the cold and distant act. But, as an elastic band snaps back when pulled taught, or as magnets are always drawn back together, their friendship never wavered. She was fairly certain she wasn't the only one who marveled at that.

But as time went on, she noticed something changing between them. There was nothing unpleasant about the change, but it was ominous all the same; she noticed how they both lingered, how they laughed longer and smiled wider, inching closer and closer to one another's hearts. Sometimes their laughter would fade and they would just smile at each other, and something would pass between them – fleetingly, almost non-existent – but then they'd be off again, him jabbering on about something or another and her pretending to be interested if it was science, and really being interested if it was another one of his incredible stories. She wasn't entirely, _one hundred percent_ certain what was happening to them (she'd never felt like this before, really), but she thought perhaps she had some vague idea, and it was crazy (and true) enough to make her wish she didn't.

And of course it didn't help that John practically flirted like he breathed. _I mean, honestly!_ she thought to herself. _The whole thing is bad enough without him making brainless comments that always seem to have me blushing like some love-struck damsel in distress…_ (Which, admittedly, she was – or at least she had been when they'd first met. She was a Tyler, and no Tyler took kindly to being called helpless.)

But despite their struggles and this big, hulking _thing_ mounting around them, she still found him outside of her advanced placement engineering class and returned the smile he sent her way, not even hesitating to wind her fingers through his as they walked down the halls to find a table outdoors to sit at and eat lunch. They both ignored whatever strange looks people cast them as they chattered and bickered and laughed, sliding into seats across from each other at a small black table under an oak tree behind the school. They quickly outlined the highlights of their days, then shoved food in their mouths and talked about far more ridiculous things. She smiled to herself, crossing her legs and laughing as he cracked terrible jokes and spun dazzling tales of starlight and wonder.

It was nice, this thing they had, this unspoken agreement. It had started as a deal: he told her all those fantastical stories, and she kept his demons away for a while with her presence. But now she had to wonder if they were even more than anyone could say.

**Sorry if that last bit seemed rushed. I tried my best.**

**I don't know about you guys, but I feel pretty good about this chapter. It's not angsty, and it actually explores school (a popular AU for all fandoms), and it isn't as long as the last chapter was (I think). I like this one.**

**Tell me what you think of it & leave a review! **

**Vamp.**


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